


Mirror

by aingea9867



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: ((the relationship never really ends up being a big thing, Other, it's also kinda sci fi, mostly because he still dies in this fic, so prep for that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10058297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aingea9867/pseuds/aingea9867
Summary: What if you CAN go through your mirror, but your reflection prevents you from going in because everything there is horrible?Well then why were you thrown on the other side? Things were better than they had ever been.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyyy! I'm posting this on AO3 mostly for my friends, but I have been cultivating this since about 2 weeks ago! I usually send these parts in a twitter group chat of mine! But they are SUPER long so I'm gonna post them here from now on!

What a beautiful thought, a beautiful world with beautiful people. What a beautiful face, an amazing, kind person you saw in the mirror. He glowed with perfection, perfectly shabby and shiningly disheveled. He knew what to say, what not to say, how to work, how to have fun, and he knew how you operated. He saw into your gears, clicking and turning the right ones, making you the perfect machine. You knew naught of life without him by your side, and you were content with him.

 

You both, however, were flawed, as humans are these days. Corruption has a hold on everyone, including the perfect person you called the one. Addiction ridded his mind of certain kindnesses, neglecting his family and friends for only you. A short amount of time yielded a less than perfect young man, an addicted mess with an attachment to only you. You loved him still.  _ What a perfect man he is growing up to become _ , you would think, allowing your eyes to glance over the signs.

 

You wish you could do it differently.

 

A normal day at the point in your life we revisit now proceeded like this: teeth, face, wash, dress, leave, arrive, cold, warm, cuddle, class, lunch, computer, cuddle, class, skip, cuddle, drive, home, date, cuddle, leave, arrive, bed, skype, sleep.

 

A typical day would throw you into life, but you had him. You had them.

 

Alana was severe, a girl who focused all her attention on activities and classes that will help her transcript and resume. She made “acquaintances, really”, not friends. Jared was someone you thought you would never hang out with in a million lightyears, an “edgelord”. He, however, knew you well and knew how to make you happy, typically with his strange version of comedy. Zoe was a sweet girl, someone who could brighten a day with a simple, subtle smile. A bright girl with a bright guitar, a young woman who made such beautiful music.

 

Evan was complicated. He knew how to make his people smile, laugh, and listen. Not many people, however, were his people. He would hide in his mind, hide in a small field surrounded by trees, tranquil and peaceful. His field was a yellow one, lush with grass and daisies, beautiful yellow and white buds scattered along. A house in a tree was his sanctuary, somewhere he could step into and drop his pack of troubles. You had never been to the orchard with him before, but he described it so vividly you could often spend time there without moving a muscle. He knew what to do in so many fields, but people were like aliens to him. He was timid and afraid of most of the people around him, tripping over words so often that he spilled them. His words were often rehearsed to keep from stumbling. Words were stored in his brain, conversations to be plucked for the right moment. They were often stored in bins and never used. He had a heart of gold yet a tongue of copper, which were accompanied by feelings of silver and hands of bronze, comforting the soul. Evan used himself to help others, but usually not in the method intended. He did not care, however, for he had you and Alana and Jared and Zoe.

 

And Connor.

 

Connor Murphy was a complex boy. He never knew when to stop in every situation, lending him to some tough situations and valiant battles of words and fists. He knew himself very well, he could sense the stares around him. His shoulder length hair was disheveled in the most perfect way, the darkness framing his face, looking best when tucked behind his ears or put in a small bun, stray hairs sticking out almost every which way. His energy was of a different type, one fuelled by thoughts and rage, but of the best kind. His rage motivated him.

 

It was sad that you couldn’t ever see him again.


	2. Chapter 1: Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, the first few chapters are short but then they all get SUPER LONG!

Why did you have to leave?

 

A typical day left you with nothing to do for hours and hours on end before you met him. As a transfer senior year, you entered the society as atypically as possible, you entered a society where people knew anything and everything about each other. Where they grew up, when they lost their first tooth, when they first dyed their hair, it was all in the back of everyone’s mind, stored for some small talk about the past. You had none of that, of course. 

 

Your entry into the school proved to be the most difficult part of a new town, as it always is for a teenager who has moved. In the first few days you still had not made friends, but that was typical, as outlined by your new psychiatrist, Dr. Sherman.

 

“There is one kid I think you may know. He goes to your school. Evan Hansen?” he said one day. You had never heard that name before, seemingly impossible to match to a face.

 

“No, I know nothing about him, why?”

 

“He’s another client of mine. Obviously I keep his records and mental issues confidential, but would you introduce yourself to him for me? It would really help me along with his treatment.” Dr. Sherman requested. Your mind raced as you tried to think of who Evan could be.  _ What would he look like? Who is he and why do I not know his name yet? _

 

“He has a cast on his left arm, so you know for reference,” he added, turning back to the computer to enter more information into the almost blank box in front of him. “Okay on refills?”

 

“Yeah, I’m all good,” you mumbled, visualizing your pill bottle, almost full. 

 

“And you still want to continue with 250 milligrams, correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The day after you woke up groggily to your mother unplugging your fan and plugging in your light. Your eyes stung and burned as you opened them, the yellow light piercing through your pupils. 

 

“First day of senior year honey!” you heard ring out. You flipped over, looking at your mom.  _ First day of the last day of my life,  _ you thought.

 

* * *

 

A typical school on a hill was where you entered, walking on the typical floor with the typical mud and dirt tracking it as kids entered the building. Average groups congregated around average spots. Everything was normal about the school.

 

Alone was what you felt, however. I mean, not knowing anyone is a start, but you felt out of place. Your life was different back home, and…

 

And…

 

You felt something. An intuition that things would go horribly wrong. 

 

You shook off your intuition and started to run to homeroom, your schedule gripped tightly in your hand. 

 

Falling.

 

Ground.

 

Dirt.

 

Pain.

 

You were on the floor, having felt a frontal impact, and shove almost. Your eyes went from the ceiling to the figure that you ran into. 

 

A boy with shoulder length dark hair and dark painted nails stood over you, his messenger bag swinging, the buttons pinned on it clacking with the movement. He looked slightly concerned, but mostly hazy. His lanky frame moved to kneel down at the side of you, looking into your eyes for a few seconds before getting back up and walking away. 

 

“What a strange kid,” you recounted at your appointment with Dr. Sherman later that day. “We collided, and I fell. He leaned over me, knelt down to look at me, then got up and left.”

 

“Always a strange occurrence on the first day. It happens quite a bit. What else happened?”

 


	3. Chapter 2: Sorry

Within the next few hours of classes you saw the boy very rarely. You were curious, mostly of why he just left. You were curious why you saw him less than everyone else, why he seemed invisible within his weathered grey jacket. His grunginess fit him so perfectly, his perfectly tousled dark hair falling in just the right places. 

 

He interested you.

 

During lunch period you saw him walk out of the cafeteria with his food. You looked at your tray. There was a bunch of slop and a small orange on it. Grabbing the orange and grabbing another one from someone else’s table, you rushed after him. 

 

As you ran, you could see his grey jacket and the back of his head come into view.

 

“Um, hi?” you asked, reaching out to tap him. Before you touched him, he whirled around. A strange expression adorned his face, as if someone had annoyed him. His eyes trailed over your hair, looking deeply into your eyes with a sort of longing, a longing to see what was inside.

 

“What?” 

 

“Um, sorry I bumped into you earlier,” you said, tilting your head slightly to look from a different angle. His hair complimented him so well, his long locks swaying with his movements, however small. He shifted positions to lean into a different hip.

 

“That was you?”

 

_ Why didn't he remember? _

 

“Yeah, it was. I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm sorry,” you apologized again, looking this time at his bag. He had various buttons from all over, some for bands, and you even picked one out as the bi pride flag. His bag was tan and weathered, sunbeaten as if he had forgotten it at the park one too many times. 

 

“Don't apologize.”

 

You looked up and saw a face forming anger.

 

“Why?”

 

“You didn't do anything.”

 

A sudden brick hit you. You were both different. Why not try?

 

You extended your hand, the small orange in your palm.

 

“I’m Y/N,” you said as you stretched out your hand toward him, a sort of peace gift. He reached out, almost timidly, and grabbed it. His hand lingered for more than a second over yours, and he recoiled.

 

“I'm Connor,” he said, putting the orange in his bag. Before you knew it he was kneeling on the ground, unpinning one of the buttons from his bag.

 

“O-oh, you don't have to-” you said before being cut off by him whirling around.

 

“Why not give you something in return?” he inquired, pushing the button into your hand, closing your fingers around it with his own.

 

“Thanks,” you said shyly, deciding to recoil and pick up your own bag.

 

“I hope to see you around,” you added, turning back to the lunch room before he could say another word, your face flushed as you continued along. You finally decided to open your palm to look at the button he gave you.

 

It was a drawing of a mermaid, beautiful yet sinister. She was gorgeous with a tail of green, but as you looked closer you could make out her all-black eyes and strange teeth. You smiled as you walked along, looking at the pin. You pinned it on yourself, thinking of the mere moments before when it was given to you.

 

_ Why was it so awkward? You gave him a fucking orange, Y/N! _

 

“It was an orange. I didn't know how it would affect my life in any way. If I did I would never have given it to him,” you would recount at Dr. Sherman’s a few weeks later.

 


	4. Chapter 3: Jazz Band Jazz

CHAPTER 3: JAZZ BAND JAZZ

 

“He seemed to be an illusion. He was such a perfect mess that I could see nothing wrong with everything falling around me.”

 

Connor saw you several times in the hallway the next few days, and he stopped to chat. Within a week you were closer friends and would walk together down the halls. You both had no one, but he had been there for longer than you had. It was as if he did know everyone however, he observed so easily that he could see the nuances of people’s expression, words, and even breath. He kept it to himself most of the time. 

 

What a burden that was.

 

A day went by where you hadn't seen him for a bit. Before homeroom, you wandered around the crowded halls looking for a sign of him. Finally you saw the grey weathered jacket and strap of the messenger bag he carried, and you started towards him. He, however, moved away from you, as if advancing on someone. 

 

A blur of motion, within a second, and he was gone, turning the corner.

 

You heard a thud mere moments after, as if someone hit the ground. Turning the corner, you saw the saddest sight you could have.

 

A timid boy with a cast on his left arm lay shaking on the ground. You looked up and saw Connor walking away, his bag swinging wildly as he walked, his hair in his face. Another glance down brought you to the boy’s shy blue eyes, crying for help silently, but beautifully.

 

His pain was apparent, but not physical of any kind. Tears bubbled up around the bottoms of his eyes, and his breathing was hitched. He repeated numbers to himself. _One, two, three, four, five_. He would inhale and exhale the numbers with such severity, as if to slow his entire body down. He let out a hopeless sob. It wasn’t working. 

 

Little did you know that within that moment a beautiful flower would blossom. 

 

But it was deadly.

 

Before you could approach the boy, he scrambled out of sight, wedging himself in a space between two lockers, sliding down to a seated position. A few minutes passed by before he got up and tried to walk it off. You stepped back, rounding the corner again.

 

You matched his breathing. It hurt so badly, to not breathe normally. It hurt to not practically grab at the air, just wanting so desperately for it. You could feel his anguish, his position, you could even feel his pulse. It practically absorbed the room, the way his heart beat. The way he scrambled to get out of sight broke your heart; he crawled as if it meant his life was in danger.

 

Before he rounded the corner, you heard an abrupt stop of two pairs of shoes with two small squeaks.

 

“Hey, I’m sorry, I saw my brother push you. He’s a psychopath…” you heard a voice say. It rang like a beautiful sleigh bell, jingling despite the content of her words.

 

“Evan, right?”

 

The name and face clicked together as the gears in your head turned. “Of course it’s him! I should’ve known,” you thought. You peeked around the corner to see Zoe Murphy talking to Evan. You rounded the corner again, pretending to casually walk down the hall past them. As you passed, you heard an exchange:

 

“Evan…”

 

“It is Evan, right?”

 

“O-oh- yes yes yes it is Evan, sorry!”

 

“Why are you sorry?”

 

“B-because you said Evan and then I REPEATED it and it- it is s-so annoying when people do that…”

 

“I’m Zoe.”

 

He went in for the handshake that she extended for first, but upon swooping in decided to recoil his arm and wipe it on his khaki pants.

 

“N-no, I know, Zoe-”

 

“You… know?”

 

“N-no well I mean, I've heard you play in jazz band, I loooove jazz band, you know, I love jazz, well, not all jazz but like jazz band jazz, that's weird I'm sorry…”

 

“You apologize a lot.”

 

“I know, I'm sorry-well, you know what I mean-”

 

An awkward pause before the next small exchange.

 

“You don't want to sign my cast, do you- wha, what'd you say?”

 

“I… I didn't say anything, you said something.”

 

“Me?” he asked. “No way… Jose,” he added shakily.

 

“O-ok, Jose,” Zoe said nervously as she walked the other way, in the direction her brother had. 

 

You finally understood what it was like to be this kid, you watched an entire conversation go on between him and another human that he had never met before. You made a decision to walk away, leaving him blushing and cursing himself in the middle of the hallway.

 


	5. Chapter 4: Step Out of the Sun

CHAPTER 4: STEP OUT OF THE SUN

 

Within the course of an hour you started to regret your decision of walking away from Evan. And Evan regretted even seeing you look on while he talked to Zoe. He regretted coming up to you during lunch to introduce himself. But in the long run, he never did regret it.

 

“H-hi, I saw you in the hallway earlier.”

 

You heard a timid voice just above you. You pushed away your tray and looked up to meet those same timid blue eyes you connected with first just an hour ago. His hands instinctively travelled to the hem of his shirt, fidgeting while anxiously anticipating a response. 

 

Within mere seconds of taking a small glance up Evan’s facial expression changed, and he looked as if he was about to run away.

 

Connor, your best and only friend, was glaring at him.

 

His face had changed from one of simple timidness, a shyness of meeting a new person, to one of sheer terror.  _ What the hell happened to him? _ you thought. You turned to Connor, whose expression had gone from one of sincere coolness and an air of nonchalant to one tinged with rage and air full of wasps, stinging with a fighting passion.

 

Connor started to get up, grasping his tray so hard his knuckles turned white. He practically tossed his food into the garbage before storming off down the hall out of the room. Evan looked at him, then looked back at you, that same scared look on his face. A warmness filled you when your eyes connected.

 

“S-sit down here. Evan, right?”

 

“Y-yeah, I’m… I’m Evan all right!” he chuckled nervously as he eased into the seat next to you, his tray of food wobbling. 

“Can you tell me what happened back there?”

 

Another change on his face. He practically dug through his mind for the right words to describe it.

 

“Well…”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“How was your summer?” Evan whirled around to see Alana, clutching her books and smiling as usual.

 

“I-” before he could even start, he was interrupted by Alana.

 

“Mine was productive. I did a few internships and 90 hours of community service,” she said in a light, bubbly tone, but a tone that was almost contradicted by the severity of her words. Now, Alana was not a quiet girl, but she was not typical either. She was.. well, as explained before, severe. She took on massive course loads, and took many extracurriculars as well. 

 

“So… do you want to sign my cast?”

 

Evan spit these words out with a lot of difficulty, stuttering often in between. Alana immediately took a look at the cast, inhaled sharply, and asked,

 

“Oh my GOD what happened to your arm?!”

 

“Well, I fell out of a tree.”

 

“Oh wow,” she said, looking Evan straight in the eye. “My grandmother broke her hip getting into the bathtub in July. That was the beginning of the end, the doctor said, because then she  **died** .”

 

A moment of strange, awkward silence filled the space between them.

 

“Whoops, I have to edit my common app!” Alana said suddenly and very quickly, running off towards the computer lab.

 

Evan stood alone in the hallway, looking at the stretch below him.

 

“Is it weird to be the first person in history to break their arm from jacking off too much, or is that just some sort of honor?” 

 

A voice behind him caused Evan to jump, his heart racing as he turned to face Jared. Jared was hard to explain, but in a different way than Alana. He wore graphic tees under dress shirts, casually unbuttoned, along with cargo shorts. Buttons adorned his bag and his shirts. He was an edgelord, someone who had a strange image and an even stranger sense of humor.

 

“No, I-I wasn't doing that-” Evan tried to spit out before being cut off.

 

“No, picture it, you have Zoe Murphy’s Instagram up on your weird off-brand cell phone-”

 

“I-uh, I fell out of a tree.”

 

Jared’s face morphed into one of instant surprise and maniacal joy.

 

“You FELL, out of a TREE? What are you, like… an acorn?!”

 

“No-n-um, how was your summer?” 

 

“Well, my cabin dominated in capture the flag, and I got to second base under the bra with this girl from Israel who’s gonna be in the army so… pretty good I guess!” Jared said pretentiously. Of course, Evan did not believe that he got anywhere near a girl’s boobs.

 

“Tell my mom I was nice to you, or my parents won’t pay for my car insurance,” Jared added before starting to walk off. He spotted Connor and stopped in his tracks.

 

“Hey Connor, lovin’ the new hair length! Very - school-shooter chic!”

 

A dead silence filled the hall as Connor got visibly more angry. His fingers grasped at his bag. 

 

“It was a joke,” Jared said, trying to cut the silence.

 

“No, I know, I’m laughing, can’t you see?” Connor said seriously. He had not been laughing, and he clearly wouldn’t be. He started practically shaking with anger. “Am I not laughing hard enough for you?”

 

Jared pivoted on his feet and started towards the stairs. “You’re such a freak,” he added over his shoulder. Evan took one last look at Jared and chuckled nervously, trying his best to remedy the situation.

 

“Why are you laughing?”

 

Evan looked up to see a mix of hurt and anger on his face. His eyes shone and his body shook.

 

“Stop fucking laughing!”

 

Evan wasn’t even close to laughing anymore. Fear filled his body as he searched for a response.

“I- I’m not-”

 

“What, you think I’m the freak? Huh?” Connor asked, advancing towards him. “I’m not the freak, you’re the fucking freak!”

 

Before Evan knew it he was on the ground.

 

* * *

 

“I remember that split second that I saw him before he started to get mad. It was nice, really. He had bright eyes. And- I really like his bag,” Evan said sincerely, looking you directly in the eye.

 

“Thank you for telling me that he did that, I was really concerned,” you said before taking a bite of your food. 

 

“You were?”

 

He looked at you with absolute sincerity.

 

“Of course I was. I mean, he pushed you,” you said. Your mind was racing. Connor had been… okay, at least when you saw him.

 

* * *

 

“No! You can’t do this to me!” you shouted as you banged on the glass, practically begging for your life.

 

“I have to ,” he said, his image disappearing from the mirror. You let your fists bang off the surface as you continues to try to claw your way back in. You couldn’t go back in.

 


	6. Chapter 5: Disappear

By the time you got back in, he had vanished. He left. And you never knew.

 

\-------------------

 

“Time went by like a blink. A couple of weeks later we were a thing. It just… happened.”

 

\-----------------------

 

“Connor, I love hanging out with you,” you said, nudging him with your left side.

 

“Me too,” he replied, trying to fall back asleep. The teacher droned on as usual.

You were silent as you wrote down your notes, still feeling his eyes on you. 

 

“Okay, so we-” you muttered to yourself as you wrote what appeared on the board. Twenty minutes passed before you noticed the reason why he was still looking at you. 

 

A small piece of paper was on the precipice of falling off of your desk. It was clearly for you, as your name was scrawled on the top. The paper had been crumpled a million times, as evidenced by the many wrinkles. 

 

When you opened it, you almost audibly gasped.

 

* * *

 

“He was so...  typical in the way he did it,” you laughed to Dr. Sherman. “He asked me out like a middle school girl, and I even said yes.”

 

* * *

 

“Wanna go somewhere Friday night?”

 

That’s what it said. 

 

You giggled and pulled out your colored pens, picking your favorite color to answer with. You folded the note and crisped the edges, handing it back to him subtly and gingerly.

 

“Passing notes?”

 

The teacher finally noticed what was going on in the back of the classroom. Both you and Connor blushed profusely.

 

_ I thought this only happened in movies. Goddamn it, this is my life now. _

 

“Y-yeah,” you responded. Connor was getting noticeably enraged. He tried to hide the note, but it was too late. Before you both knew it, the teacher was at the back of the classroom with your note in his hand.

 

“If it’s so imperative that you pass notes during my class,” he said sarcastically, “then everyone should know about this pressing matter.”

 

Connor shot up from his desk.

 

“Don’t you dare.”

 

The teacher gave him a quick, condescending glance, and opened the note anyways.

 

“Wanna go somewhere Friday night?”

 

The words were forever ruined for you.

 

“Are you fucking joking?!” Connor blurted, grabbing for the note. Your face got even redder as the teacher pulled it away, eager to read your response.

 

_ My life is a high school movie. Why the hell is it a high school movie? _

 

“She even wrote the response in (f/c),” a student jeered, glancing at the note. You recognized the student as Jared Kleinman.  _ Asshole, _ you thought.

 

“Jared, shut the fuck up,” Connor retaliated. He looked as if he was ready to kill Jared, and for good reason.

 

“Oh, they said yes. Well that’s a problem solved,” the teacher said, handing the note back to Connor.

 

“Um, what problem?” you asked. 

 

_ Goddamn it why did you speak? _

 

On the other side of the classroom you spotted those familiar blue eyes that belonged to Evan. He looked terrified, as if he was the one being humiliated in front of the entire class. He was doing the usual, fidgeting with his shirt and the edge of his cast.

 

“Connor’s problem,” the teacher simply answered, walking back to the center of the classroom, picking up his binder of notes to continue teaching. Connor was still standing up, but you could practically feel the heat radiating off of him. You shot up and shouted in front of the class,

 

“I’m pretty sure we have a human right to privacy!”

 

You turned towards Connor. You didn’t see the typical rage on his face, however. You saw something totally different.

 

Hot tears bubbled in his eyes. He looked as if he was trying desperately to keep them in, to keep his cool in front of his classmates. You grabbed his hand, your eyes still trained on him. He shot his glance towards you.

 

“How fast can you run?”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter: @opalmarkiplier  
> Find me on tumblr: spaghettifather, smokingdrugs, and ask-jared-kleinman


End file.
